


The Royal Dictation

by Sindefara



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 14:36:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15642759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sindefara/pseuds/Sindefara
Summary: It turns out that Finarfin, whose brothers and nephews are most wise and learned Elves is grossly ignorant. Can the wisest of the elves, Rúmil, inventor of the first elvish alphabet and author of numerous books, deal with this problem?)





	The Royal Dictation

**Author's Note:**

> I've posted this already, but took it off when I was in a black mood.  
> Now I saw this wonderful picture by alackofghosts depicting Fëanor and a learned friend of his: http://alackofghosts.tumblr.com/post/176852591492/alackofghosts-what-i-really-want-in-life-is-for  
> and I've remembered how much I love my Rúmil:)  
> Here is a wonderful biography of Rúmil by Oshun that was a great help: http://www.silmarillionwritersguild.org/reference/characterofthemonth/rumil.php  
> "If we imagine that Rúmil had escaped from slavery to Melkor to Middle-earth and passed all path with his people across the continent and sailed to Aman, becoming the greatest scientist of the Golden Age of the achievements of the Noldor, the character gets a certain greatness he seems tormented hero brave people. "  
> Here is an interesting article about the alphabet of Rúmil (with illustrations): http://at.mansbjorkman.net/sarati.htm

I  
_... Bad teachers variously affect the children in the same class. Some children indeed may begin to study well, but the other, weak and nervous, stop to study entirely. While learning their lesson, they cannot focus on the subject: the menacing image of the teacher and the chastisements he promised always stand before their eyes.  
K. Ushinsky_

 

Rúmil knelt before the throne of Manwë and Varda.  
He was dressed in his ceremonial blue and black clothes, streaked with purple; his long, almost to the ankles, light brown hair were spread, curtain-like, on the yellow and pink marble floor.  
\- Namárië, Wanwavoisi (goodbye, Manwe-and-Warda), - he said softly, fully aware that both Valar can hear the faintest sound.  
\- Oh, there is one more thing, Rúmil - Varda descended from her throne and approached Rúmil. - Please, do have a look: King Finarfin has sent this to us as a token of gratitude for the successful Flower Feast this year.  
Rúmil took the letter.  
\- You mean that his horrific spelling... all this… oh… “Eye fawnd my piece of mind” - is my entire fault? Because at one time I had to dismiss him from the Academy? - he responded ruefully.  
\- No, of course - Varda took his arm and led him away. - I understand that back than you were simply unable to correct his shortcomings. After all, he was only an adolescent of about thirty. The problem was in the family... Now he is, to put it mildly, an adult. Perhaps you, Rúmil, might try again? If he only could attend a basic course of grammar and calligraphy...  
Rúmil's eyes widened in horror.  
\- Put him on a school bench with teenagers? It is impossible! Furthermore, the school is now still empty...! Why now?  
\- Previously, I did not pay attention. – The Valië spread her hands in a very Mannish way: even her godlike stature decreased to a quite ordinary height. - Formerly, his wife wrote all his letters and other papers for him. Now she moved out to live with her parents and Finrod – after Finrod and Amarië’s wedding. I believe, it is for good. I think Finarfin needs help ... I know that after the graduation ceremony the school actually will be empty until next summer. Finarfin will be your only student. Is it not convenient for both of you? 

*** 

Finarfin came into the yard and stopped. Like all students, he came here on foot.  
He had never seen the courtyard so empty. Yellow-brown marble porch was covered with fallen leaves; just a small clean path remained in the middle of the stairs. Strange, but now, under a grey sky, among the scrolls of yellow autumn leaves, the stone seemed brightened and filled with solar heat. Twisted columns emitted gentle, honeyed radiance; Finarfin touched the marble surface, looking around. During his absence a huge pine tree had grown in the gallery surrounding the first floor; the grey flagstones were covered with long, brown needles.  
\- Hello, Arafinwë, - Rúmil said. He appeared, as always, quietly and unexpectedly. The teacher wore the same long dark purple dress, his wavy hair, dark brown with a reddish tint, were streaming down, almost reaching his heels. Finarfin always felt that they radiate some kind of invisible light: pine needles and leaves, it seemed, did not dare to touch his locks and dress.  
Finarfin bowed and kissed his hand.  
\- You are the only student, - Rúmil omitted the usual greetings. – You may stay wherever you want. Come to class tomorrow at eight in the morning.  
A large door lead from the terrace to the students' rooms with high ceilings and large low windows. Finarfin felt like jumping out of the window, as he used to, stepping on the soft and empty flowerbed and escaping to the garden, but now these big rooms were too cold to keep a window open. He settled down in a tiny room with a small, narrow door, low ceiling and a small high window: it was under the staircase that led to Rúmil’s rooms. Entering the room, Finarfin heard the key turning in the keyhole somewhere upstairs: Rúmil returned to his apartments.  
During the years he spent in school, Finarfin reconciled himself with the situation. Everyone remembered him as a cheerful, spirited, and friendly person. Of course, he was bound to break loose at least once. Everyone preferred to forget about that time – the time when he became an adult and was under the care of the greatest sage of the Noldor. He did not graduate from the Academy: instead of the last two years there was a year and a half that ended in a disgraceful dismissal.  
Finarfin remembered how he threw a tantrum at the first day of study with Rúmil, when he was accommodated in this room.  
Everything was wrong from the beginning. Everything. 

Rúmil locked his door with a key. It was painful to think that he was again in the house; they were once again under the same roof. Everyone pretended that nothing had happened. Finarfin’s mother, Indis, promised him that her youngest son would never return to the Academy. His father, Finwë, sent him a short letter with an expression of regret and a gift. As if Finarfin’s mean trick on him was supposed to be an ordinary fact of his life.  
On that day, Rúmil, utterly disgusted, was looking out of the window at Finwë, Indis and their youngest son, Finarfin. The first wife of Finwë would have understood that at that moment his small and peaceful world collapsed. No matter how unpleasant and arrogant Fëanor colud be sometimes - Fëanor, son of Míriel, could never do that.  
Rúmil sat down at the table; an open book was before him, but he could not read. He took his comb with a long handle and began to comb his long, long tresses - one strand after another, again and again. He did so whenever he remembered Finarfin - and could not stop. Rúmil was startled to hear the faint noise: Finarfin prepared himself to sleep in his room downstairs and was making the bed. He jerked, tearing a tuft out of his hair. 

\- Write, please - Rúmil started. - «Clouds come seldom in Valinor, and the mortal birds pass not beyond the peaks of its mountains”.  
Finarfin began to write diligently; the quill in his delicate fingers was moving in a strange way - up and down, up and down, like a magpie's tail.  
\- "But in the North and South, where there is most cold and darkness...”  
Finarfin again dipped his pen in the pot filled with dark purple ink – Rúmil’s favourite colour.  
\- " It takes the form of shadows and grey mists ". That is all.  
Rúmil took the wax tablet from Finarfin and started to read:  
_Clawds kome seldom in Valenor, end the moretal birdz…_  
\- Once again, - said Rúmil, trying to dictate as loud and clear as he could.  
This time it was like:  
_Klawdz kome seldam in Valleynor, and themore tailbirdz…_  
At one time, the Valar and the oldest of the Elves earnestly discussed the idea that the children of Finwë’s second marriage could be mentally or physically handicapped: Finwë, they argued, could not be strong enough to impregnate one more woman in a regular way. After Fingolfin grew up a little, the talks stopped. Fingolfin was not an extremely gifted child as Fëanor was, but the second son of Finwë had a brilliant memory and good understanding: he was always one of the top ten students. However, looking now at Finarfin, Rúmil remembered this theory again. There was indeed something weird about Finwë’s third son.  
Rúmil placed the book in front of him.  
\- Do you see what is written here, Arafinwë? Read.  
Finarfin pursed his lips and stared at the page.  
\- Cla... clouds come seldom in Valinor, and the mor… tale... tale… mortal birds… pass not bey... be-yond… beyond the peaks of its mow… moun… tains. But in the N-north…  
Rúmil was taken aback. He never asked such grown-up students as Finarfin to read aloud in class: they discussed some long and complicated texts they read at their own. Initially he believed that only Finarfin’s spelling was terrible, but he had no idea that his pupil was barely able to read.  
\- How Quennar could let you out of the elementary school, I wonder? - Rúmil asked coldly.  
\- He knew I cannot read and did not ask me to, - Finarfin replied, without looking at him.  
Rúmil placed the book in front of him.  
\- Rewrite this page properly. Thirty times. And in addition, another thirty times after dinner.  
Rúmil did not want to see more of Finarfin today. It was almost night when he returned into the empty classroom and looked at Finarfin’s notebook. The text was copied very carefully, but Rúmil reached down into the litterbox under the table; there lay a crumpled leaf on which Finarfin wrote the first two times. The handwriting was not too much like the Finarfin’s round and small, but barely legible hand. Looking closely, Rúmil realized that Finarfin simply redrew words as children redraw a picture without trying to understand how the words were actually written. Sometimes Finarfin floundered badly and some ugly and crumpled monsters creeped in between the ordinary words – “that air that is clear and pure being rprevvadditt by light”.  
Rúmil wanted to hope that the next morning Finarfin would leave.  
At eight they have met again in the classroom.  
\- Please read aloud, - Rúmil again put a book in front of him.  
Within half an hour he listened relentlessly as Finarfin forced himself to read. Then he made him to rewrite the text again - rewrite and read aloud every page.  
\- Maybe I can cook something? – asked Finarfin when it was dinner time.  
\- Take from the pantry whatever you want, - said Rúmil. - I eat very little; I almost do not need anything.  
Coming in from the outside, Rúmil saw Finarfin eating alone in the student cafeteria. In one of the windows there was no inner sashes: the servants probably forgot to put them in. A strip dry leaves and twigs was on the floor. For a moment, the teacher felt sorry for his only student, huddled in a corner of a large cold room. He went to the window; Finarfin looked up and suddenly said to him:  
\- Rúmil, forgive me, please. For that time. I am so sorry.  
Rúmil abruptly left, almost ran back to the doors and said:  
\- No! Of course not. Never!  
He went upstairs and locked his door again. He was all trembling. He imagined Finarfin, sitting in the corner of the dining room, his shiny, golden hair, his white hands holding an apple - and felt sick. It turned him inside out. For two days, he was unable to eat – so strong were the horror and hatred he felt. 

Finarfin dropped the apple. He told himself that he deserved this torment, but it was too unbearable.  
He loved Rúmil.  
Rúmil never showed himself to the younger students. He was a kind of recluse. They were able to see him only during the last two years. They went to live in his house with the courtyard, enclosed on all sides, overgrown with dark trees and shrubs. Everyone started to behave quietly, talking in whispers; everyone suddenly felt older.  
Finarfin was the only one still laughing, banging his spoon on the glass of lemonade, shouting, asking his friends to walk with him together along the road back to the city.  
Finarfin was going crazy. Was it possible not to go crazy when you love and there is no hope for a moment to attract the attention of the object of your love? He was definitely the worst student in the history of the Academy. It could not be fixed. On the holidays after the first year, he tried to do something, asked his relatives for help. Fëanor answered honestly that at this stage it could not be helped – not in a few weeks, at least. Fingolfin tried to study with him, but as a teacher, he was useless; he always said something like "Well, yes, you see... all this… and so on... And all this kind of stuff. In general, it is perfectly clear, I think. Maybe, we’ll go on a ride before it rains?". Fortunately, his father and Fingolfin were prepared to accept his strange shortcomings – his spelling and reading did not matter for them.  
Finarfin laughed bitterly. He was surnamed the Wise precisely because he was not able to think quickly. He could not swiftly answer questions, could not participate in poetic improvisations at the parties, where young Elves put riddles to each other, could not come up with witty answers. He had to think about everything in advance, choosing his words carefully in advance to refute possible objections and comments. However, it came only later. When he was already expelled from the Academy.  
Then, in his second year of study, Finarfin began to behave like a spoiled five-year kid: overturning inkwells, throwing food at dinner, tossing books high on trees. Then… 

Finarfin was hoping that everything settled down in a way. No. It was evident that after so many years Rúmil still not just scorned, but hated him. 

*** 

A week later, Rúmil realized that it was a waste of time: Finarfin’s spelling did not improve, and his reading seemed even worse. At the thought that Finarfin will stay here for months, his teacher felt an unbearable headache. Sometimes Rúmil noticed that Finarfin still was trying to talk to him, perhaps apologize once again. This he could not allow.  
One day he heard that after school Finarfin did not return to his own room, but walked across the yard and went out of the gates. Rúmil was about to breathe a sigh of relief. However, going down and looking into the little room under the stairs, he saw Finarfin’s notebooks, inkwells and copybooks on the table. His school uniform was hanging on the wall. Finarfin obviously was going to come back.  
Rúmil returned to his room and locked the door. It was unbearably scary. Rationally, he realised that now Finarfin, an adult, a King, father of five children, could not do anything bad to him, especially since the Valar knew he was there.  
He fell into a restless sleep and woke up hearing a rustle. Dawn sky was still dark; outside a light fog was creeping around. Against the half-open window, he saw a silhouette of Finarfin, his soft hair, which seemed in the darkness almost white, his proud neck. Rúmil stood up, and, without thinking, hit him full force. Finarfin lost his balance and fell out of the window with a faint cry.  
Rúmil looked down and saw him lying down on the flagstones of the yard.  
He hurried downstairs. Finarfin's heart was beating, but now Rúmil saw how white his face was; several times he called him, but he has not come to his senses. Rúmil carefully fingered his head, neck, and spine: it seemed there were no fractures. Apparently, Finarfin hit his head against a stone and lost consciousness as a result.  
Rúmil had brought Finarfin to his room. He was angry with himself because of his stupid, useless fear, and he was angry with Finarfin. He decided, as soon as Finarfin wakes up, to ask him to leave the school.  
Finarfin woke up only at the morning dawn. He tried to stand up, but immediately started vomiting. He said nothing, just looked at Rúmil apologetically.  
\- Please stay in bed, - he said, - you should not get up. At least today.  
Sighing, Rúmil went to his apartment to fetch the medicines.  
Rúmil came into his room and froze. The floor under the window was covered with a white and gold mountain flowers. He realized that Finarfin went out to gather flowers for him. Apparently, he still was hoping to obtain his forgiveness...  
II  
Finarfin remembered well this ill-fated day: he discussed his oral presentation with his teacher. Of course, he could not use his notes in the classroom: he could not allow Rúmil to have a look at his handwriting. Finarfin drew a chart on which he based his report. Rúmil requested him to produce the draft, but Finarfin somehow managed to get out: he stuffed the wax tablet into his bag, hastily erasing the chart with left palm. Finarfin felt incredibly happy: finally, Rúmil somehow appreciated his work.  
Finarfin awkwardly clutched his bag; he was going to leave, when he realised that a strand of Rúmil’s hair was caught in a copper ringlet on the bag. Strangely enough, it happened but rarely: Rúmil’s long hair seemed to evade any contacts with outside world as he himself did.  
\- Can I help you cut it? - Finarfin asked, reaching for a pocket-knife.  
Rúmil jolted sharply: he pulled the fluffy curl off the ringlet. Finarfin thought that Rúmil was prepared to slap his hand.  
\- Do not dare! - Rúmil said. – Don’t you ever!  
Finarfin was left alone in the classroom, stupefied, following Rúmil with his eyes; now he realized that Rúmil did not just unhook his hair: he removed and put in his pocket a few strands that still clung to the ringlet (Finarfin longed to keep them forever).  
Rúmil was tired and exhausted and he did not notice how Finarfin climbed into his window that night.  
However, the next day he found out what had happened. The summer was extremely hot, and Rúmil wore dark purple silk breeches, very wide, almost like a skirt: he girt himself with a fine black sash embroidered with silver. Rúmil started to tell something about the northern ocean off the coast of Endorë. He was quite carried away, which rarely happened to him and started to walk around the classroom. When he passed by Finarfin’s table, Finarfin accidentally on purpose pressed with his finger a long end of the teacher’s girdle to the edge of his table. The girdle ripped with a rasping sound and Finarfin laughed hysterically. Rúmil was not wearing any underwear so he stopped, standing in the middle of the classroom naked from the waist down, and hiding his horrified, scarlet face in his palms.  
Fortunately, no one was laughing except Finarfin; it seemed that only two of his friends smirked slightly. The rest of the disciples were stunned at Finarfin’s cruelty. Someone almost immediately got up and left, making a sign to other students; everyone followed, leaving Rúmil alone in the classroom. No one could come up with anything better; no one had a cloak or extra clothes with him to give it to Rúmil. Finarfin was still laughing; one of his friends pulled him by the arm out of the classroom. Only then, his laughter drowned. He ran to his room and heard Rúmil’s loud steps on the stairs.  
He immediately confessed to his parents: yes, it was he who climbed into Rúmil’s room through the window; yes, it was he who had cut his girdle. No, he did not mean anything wicked. No, he just wanted to have some fun. He honestly believed it must be funny, that’s all… 

*** 

Rúmil placed his hand on Finarfin’s head and made him drink some water.  
\- You must stay in bed, - he said. - Do not try to get up at least for three or four days. I will take care of you, if you don’t mind.  
\- Yes, - Finarfin replied obediently. - As you say. So stupid ... I’ve disturbed you so much with my so-called studies, and now you have to take care of me…  
\- I'll read aloud to you to use the time, - Rúmil said. Finarfin could not understand if he really meant it.  
Rúmil was not kidding: after dinner, he sat beside him and started to read a book. He went on for quite some time; then he saw that his patient was sleeping.  
Looking at the sleeping Finarfin, Rúmil felt himself rather confounded. He disliked Finarfin’s demeanour when they first met. The teacher considered him an extremely stupid, useless, incapable, arrogant, spoiled father’s pet. Finarfin was never thoughtful and focused, and, as far as Rúmil could observe him in his relations with other classmates, he did not answer any question straight – he laughed it off, turned his eyes, turned the conversation to another subject, or replied something like "this is an important problem, we have to think this over". Rúmil was inclined to believe that Finarfin was actually an unkind and deceitful person; he felt sorry for Finwë, whom he dearly loved and respected - for the very fact that Finarfin was his son.  
At the same time, Finarfin’s outward appearance enchanted him immediately. When Finarfin was silent, when he was staring out the window, or, as it was now, he slept - Rúmil sometimes felt himself being… in love?.. He did not know what this feeling was, but it was very similar to what those who have experienced love tell of it.  
At least, when he realized that last night Finarfin appeared in his room only to bring flowers, Rúmil finally got rid of all disgraceful fears. Of course, this was not a good deed, too. Nevertheless, Rúmil thought, it must be immensely hard for Finarfin to spend weeks alone with the teacher who feared and hated him for something he himself probably had long forgotten.  
He blew out the candle and walked quietly out of the room. 

In the morning, rising up, Rúmil saw white patterns of frost on the window. So early! It was now only the Month of Fading Flame... He threw a couple of logs in the fire.  
He went downstairs into Finarfin’s room.  
\- Good morning, - he said.  
The room was impossibly cold. It was a former storeroom with no fireplace. Finarfin could move to one of the common dormitories, but they were huge, and to warm them, it was necessary to stoke a number of hearths. This was usually done by students, and it was rarely necessary - in the coldest months, they were on holidays.  
Rúmil sighed, bent forward to Finarfin and in one confident move took him in his arms.  
\- Good morning. It’s too cold here. I’ll take you to my apartments. 

For all these days, Finarfin was silent and embarrassed, quite unlike his former self.  
Rúmil read aloud to him regularly, but did not give him any assignments. Finally, he began to understand Finarfin a little. Now, when the teacher did not ask questions, did not demand him to write, repeat or say anything, Finarfin himself sometimes started to question Rúmil warily or to express his opinions. Rúmil ceased to wonder why such sophisticated Noldor as Finrod and Turgon found Finarfin an agreeable companion. He realized that Finarfin really needed time to think over. Very often he started to ask about the matters that were treated a few pages ago. However, Finarfin’s attentiveness and his ability to compare the details could be the envy of many students whom Rúmil considered very able.  
Finarfin was so unbelievably handsome…  
Still, why was he so ignorant? 

One morning Rúmil helped Finarfin to stand up. The weather improved, but the sky was grey, and wisps of ashen-white mist crawled into the courtyard. Rúmil opened the window; a fine, almost invisible cold rain hung in the air. Finarfin looked out; his soft blond hair and long eyelashes were studded with tiny crystal droplets.  
\- I did not know that this place was so cold in the late autumn, - Finarfin said.  
\- We are in the mountains, - Rúmil reminded him. - Pretty high. It’s much colder here than in Tirion.  
\- Are you not cold? - Finarfin asked.  
Rúmil smiled.  
\- I was born in Middle-earth, you know. Far in the north. It is cold there, just like here. My parents took me to the high hills to look at the stars. If you are cold, I will close the window.  
He closed the window; something made him to close one of the shutters as well, although the room was dark.  
\- My parents were very strange persons, Arafinwë, - confessed Rúmil unexpectedly. – They always were so solemn, so thoughtful. They reasoned endlessly about heavens, about the stars, about the world, about winds and storms; I borrowed from them my love of astronomy and geography.  
\- Do I have to start my studies today? - Finarfin asked, running his hand through his damp blonde hair. – Do I have an assignment?  
\- Tomorrow - said Rúmil. – It is better to have some more rest today. If you want, I can read to you aloud like yesterday.  
\- I do not know - said Finarfin. - Probably, it is not necessary any more. I will read what you tell me to read.  
For the rest of the day Finarfin was silent; he stared in the dim window.  
\- Well, the day is over. I’ll light a lamp. - Rúmil said.  
\- Wait.  
Finarfin approached him. The room was quite dark; Rúmil could barely see his face. Finarfin came very close and said:  
\- Rúmil, you already know I am an idiot.  
\- You are not…  
\- I am an idiot, Rúmil, - the one who in the most decisive moments does the most stupid thing that can only spoil everything, - said Finarfin and kissed him - first on the cheek, then on the lips.  
Rúmil froze.  
Perhaps, if it had happened a year ago, he would have hit him, slapped him in the face, screamed, would at least demand him to leave.  
But now they were together here in his chambers: they’ve spent almost a week in these three small rooms; and now here it was so quiet, so dark, so sad that Rúmil was unable to be angry. There were only two of them there in the large house, under a dark veil of dusk and rain.  
Rúmil wanted to ask him “Why?”, but said nothing.  
Finarfin kissed him again, and then wrapped his arms around his teacher’s neck, gently ran his fingers over his forehead. Rúmil did not see him, could not admire his beauty - but now he was sure he was indeed in love, he was in love all this time, all those endless years, while Finarfin was not there.  
\- Please, do not leave, - whispered Finarfin.  
\- You want me to kiss you, too? - asked Rúmil.  
\- If you don’t mind, - he replied.  
Rúmil brushed Finarfin’s mouth with his lips, felt the soft skin of his cheek. At last, Rúmil managed to kiss him just as Finarfin himself did before.  
\- I am sorry, I do not know how… - Rúmil said. – I’ve never kissed anyone... and no one ever kissed me, for that matter.  
\- It is impossible, Rúmil! - Finarfin said. - But what about your family ... your parents?  
\- No, never. I told you - my parents were odd. They loved me dearly, I know, but they have never kissed me and hardly ever embraced. I am used to it.  
Finarfin kissed him deeply and passionately; Rúmil wanted to push him away, he decided that this was too much, but then suddenly, out of nowhere something came over him. Previously, he felt only a tender, gentle fascination, but in these days, when Finarfin was in his room, something else broke out. Now the physical side of love, which was alien and incomprehensible to Rúmil for so many years, opened up before him.  
All around them was dark, quiet and sweet; only the open grey half of the window was gleaming slightly, and the same sweet darkness was in Rúmil’s mind. First Rúmil wanted only to hug and kiss Finarfin, and then he wanted to caress, to stroke, to touch his lover’s body all over from head to toe. It did not matter now that he did not see his face, his fair hair and beautiful fine hands.  
However, strange to say, Rúmil still knew that this was the same Finarfin, who could write something like "Clawds kome seldom in Valenor ", and then he realized with astonishment that it was the very fact that Finarfin did not know how to read and write, that ignited his passion. For decades and centuries other Elves regarded Rúmil in awe, as the inventor of their alphabet, for decades he was the centre of the circle of Elven scholars and the most learned Noldor. Now Rúmil embraced and kissed his pupil, who confused the letters, who barely could read aloud a couple of paragraphs, who made two or three errors spelling one short word.  
It was this immeasurable distance between them that made Rúmil desire him with such irresistible force.  
\- So you want - Finarfin breathed out - you want ... you want ... Do you want to play a joke at me ... as a punishment. I am a fool, I know. - Finarfin took Rúmil’s hand and put it on his belt; Rúmil felt Finarfin untying the belt: his breeches just as Rúmil’s back than fell to the floor. – You cannot see me now, but you can touch me anywhere if you want.  
\- I do want, - said Rúmil. He felt himself blush, felt shame, but could not stop. – Arafinwë, you are so… so tender, so pleasant, so soft… I am being so foolish, too, but I cannot... Oh!  
Rúmil pressed himself against him and a wave of pleasure, strong, almost painful, hit him with such force that he screamed. He dropped his head on Finarfin’s chest. The silence surrounded them, only the rain was rustling softly outside. Rúmil felt his knees failing him.  
\- It is so useless ... why do I want you so badly, - Rúmil whispered in his ear. - Why do I want so much to...? You cannot be my chosen one, it is impossible ... Oh, Arafinwë, I’m afraid I’m going mad. I am sorry, did you ever… Have you embraced... have you loved other men like this?  
\- No, - Finarfin answered. - No, no! Never. I am just very inquisitive and observant... - He laughed softly. - I know that this is possible. I know you can love me, if you want to.  
\- But how…  
\- I know you want more. – Finarfin was lying of the bed opposite the window; Rúmil now saw only a vague outline of his naked body. - Do you want me to give you a lesson? Come closer, - he took Rúmil’s hand. - Come to me, I will teach you...  
\- I do not know - Rúmil groaned. - I do not understand what you are talking about...  
Rúmil’s hair covered them both in a stifling sweet-scented wave. Finarfin loved this fragrance – cold and misty, it reminded him of pine resin and bark, and now that Rúmil was on top and the heavy strands of his hair surrounded him in fragrant blackness, Finarfin felt so happy that tears were welling in his eyes.  
III  
\- Good morning - Finarfin said.  
The rain ceased; outside everything was grey and very quiet.  
Rúmil said nothing. He turned to the wall, and now Finarfin could see only his hair.  
\- Go away, please, - finally uttered Rúmil.  
"He is ashamed of himself” - Finarfin realized. – “Because he has yielded to me. This was to be expected”.  
He dressed and went downstairs. His head was spinning again today, but he could walk. Finarfin packed his belongings and put on his red mantle.  
"Yes”, - he said to himself. – “I always wanted to return to him – return to apologize, to let him know that I love him, that I am so sorry. Well, now I can go”.  
\- Arafinwë ... – Coming down to the courtyard, he heard Rúmil’s voice behind him.  
He turned around. Rúmil did not have time to get dressed: he wore only pants and a warm blanket. He only plaited the dark locks on his temples into two plaits to keep it out of his eyes.  
"It is not right”, - Rúmil thought in panic. – “Probably it is not the way one does… We’ve spent the night together. I did not even tell him “good morning””.  
\- What? - Finarfin snapped.  
\- Arafinwë, good morning.  
Finarfin came up and threw his warm mantle over him.  
\- Arafinwë, why? Answer me. Just tell me why.  
\- And what do you think? - Finarfin said.  
Finarfin, as always, did not answer the question.  
\- I think you just got bored. I think you wanted to entertain yourself, to brighten the long and exhausting weeks. In fact, you still hate and despise me as much as you did when you were in my class. Is that right?  
\- Rúmil, do you really believe that only someone who is able to understand and read everything you wrote can fall in love with you? - Finarfin laughed bitterly. - I think I am cursed from birth; sometimes I wonder — by whom? Perhaps, by my older brother? Perhaps, he said: "You will be everyone’s sweetheart, but you will never be able to please the only one whom you will love. You will know and understand everything, but you will never understand what makes one person fall in love with another. You will be called wise, but you will make the most stupid and horrible mistakes dealing with the one you love”. Is that right? For goodness’s sake, Rúmil, do not think that I just wanted to pass the time! – For the first time Rúmil heard despair in his voice. - It is not fair! If you want, I'll go back to my room and will not come out until the end of my lessons. Perhaps, you can let me in the classroom, I will make the homework and leave it there?  
\- I do not know. Arafinwë, I do not know. Come on ... let's go back. I need to dress. You’ll have your lessons today.  
\- Of course - Finarfin replied.  
But on that day there were no lessons. 

Rúmil could not remember a time when he felt so free, so thoughtlessly happy. Perhaps, only in a few days after he run away from Melkor’s slavery, still in Middle-earth, when he realized that he was not being followed and that he actually managed to escape.  
He was ashamed to think about it, but in fact, the thought of Finarfin’s ignorance indeed heightened his pleasure. 

Rúmil hugged him tenderly and kissed. The teacher’s hair were plaited in a long, thick tress and covered by a fine, pearl-studded silver hairnet. To Finarfin this look seemed so incredibly stunning: Rúmil wore the hairnet only at home, and he had never seen him like this.  
\- We do not study any more ... - Finarfin said lazily, kissing him back.  
"So stupid again, - Finarfin thought and inwardly shuddered. – I’ve spoiled everything".  
\- Yes, you're right, Aro, - Rúmil said. – We cannot bring an inkwell into our bed, but still you can read aloud to me.  
\- You are taunting me, - said Finarfin unhappily.  
\- And what if I do? - Rúmil playfully tugged his ear. - Do not waste time.  
He took a small book from the shelf above their bed.  
\- Read it.  
\- Well, at least, you will have some fun, - Finarfin sighed. –  
“The Eldar took few words from the V-Valar, for they… were rich in words and ready in in.. inve…in-ven-tion at need. But though the honour which they gave to the Valar might have caused them…” Rúmil, what are you doing!  
Finarfin felt Rúmil’s hot hip pressing to him, and the teacher’s foot gently stroking his leg from the knee to the toes. His cheeks blazed, and he almost dropped the book.  
\- Do not get distracted, Arafinwë, do not get distracted, read on, - said Rúmil austerely.  
\- It's so cruel .. Well… “ caused them to take w-words from their speech, whe-ther needed or not, few words of Var.. Val.. Va-la-rin could be… fitted to Elvish… Elvish speech without great change or di-mi-nu-tion…”.  
It must have been indeed a real torture, but Finarfin endured it bravely; only twice during these readings, he helplessly dropped his head on Rúmil’s shoulder and whispered: «Rúmil, I'm sorry ... I can bear it no longer" - and then his teacher set aside the book and hugged him.  
Ironically, Finarfin realized that it helped: in a few days, he began to read aloud almost without qualms, something that he could not achieve before. However, his spelling was still hopeless - and not just because one cannot bring an inkwell to the bed. Rúmil understood that he had at his disposal no means to teach Finarfin write properly.  
For the first time in many years, Rúmil asked himself the question: who taught Finarfin to write? Why Finarfin’s parents did not try to tackle their child’s problem; why, after all, they did not tell his teacher? The school probably was an ordeal for him. Rúmil had already guessed, but still he decided to ask Finarfin about this. 

They were lying in bed, embracing, in a warm and bright autumn evening. Both of them did not want to wake up.  
Rúmil saw that Finarfin was obviously struggling with some miserable thoughts and decided that it is now possible to ask an unpleasant question - either it would be in line with his own feelings, or it will distract him.  
\- Arafinwë, tell me, was it Fëanor who taught you?  
\- Yes, it was him. He had not yet invented his alphabet, the Tengwar: he taught me the letters that you had invented. Our father was worried about Fëanor: he did not want him to wander alone on the shores of Aman - and Fëanor often disappeared from home for months. Our father told him to stay home and teach me to read and write, - Finarfin explained. - I think at the time I was the person Fëanor hated most. Because of me, he was locked up in father’s house, and he could not stand it. I was very young. Fëanor at my age already could read very well, - you probably know it. Our father let him teach me as he pleased. Punish. Leave me without supper. Actually, he hardly ever did. But he was always shouting. Angry. All the time. Once he even draw back his arm as if to strike me. He constantly put questions to me – and I was so afraid to answer. One day… one day he wrote two letters on my wax tablet and asked: "What is this, B or V? B or V? Tell me! Tell me quickly! B or V?”. Rúmil, I ... I think I went mad with fear. I was in utter despair. Then I thought that, in the end, there were only two answers - one right, one wrong. Even if I’ll not guess now, I’ll guess the next time. It could not be so bad. I said: "This is B". Fëanor said: "No". I breathed a sigh of relief - "So, it’s V after all”. Then he said, "No! No, it's M! You see, there is no dash below! You do not think! You are not able to think!". When Fëanor invented the Tengwar, he did not even bother to teach it to me. He said: "It’s useless, learn Rúmil’s letters first".  
Rúmil felt so sorry for him that he could not even look at his eyes at that moment. He imagined a small, terrified child, curled into a ball in the corner. Now it became clear to him why Finarfin was like this; how came up everything which seemed so offensive to Rúmil - his evasive answers, the reluctance to respond directly to a question, his endless "I need to think it over".  
\- I felt like something in me then had dried out forever, Rúmil - Finarfin said. - The only emotion I could feel was hatred for the one who invented the letters I was unable to learn. When I came to school, I hated you, - and fell in love the very moment I saw you. - He looked guiltily at Rúmil. - Rúmil, may I ask, how on earth did you invent your letters? Just to make fun of such fools as I am? You probably ... - Finarfin immediately stopped short when he saw his face.  
\- I do not like to talk about it, Arafinwë, - Rúmil said.  
\- Yes. Of course, I should know. It was such a great breakthrough and it happened so many years ago - I should have guessed - if I do not know the story, it’s because you do not want to talk about it. - Finarfin looked sad and disappointed. – I am sorry…  
\- My parents did not survive captivity - Rúmil said. – Their souls had left their bodies. My father probably was so badly wounded that orcs have finished him off - I am not sure. I do not hope to see them again, Arafinwë: my parents were well aware of the Mandos’ Halls... but I always knew that they did not want to respond to his call. They did not like the fact that the Elves are bound to this world. Their dream was to leave Arda for good; to go far beyond the spaces where Alcarinquë and Lumbar shine. I hope they made it. I was left alone. The orcs have taken away my clothes, tore it; divided the jewelled pieces of embroidery between them. I was naked. They’ve cut my hair at the root with a knife – there were some bad cuts on my head. Here. - Rúmil took Finarfin’s hand and put it on the back of his head under the heavy, warm curls: Finarfin felt some deep scars, long and undulant, like roots of a tree. - Orcs wore ornaments made of our hair. Fair, auburn, red. I was relieved when they had cut my hair – it meant that not all whose hair they wore were dead: they could just become prisoners like me. But it was actually worse than death. I worked in a mine: I was forced to break rocks and look for small gems. I was thirteen or fourteen years old, I guess. I saw no one, except for orcs, and sometimes a glimpse of enslaved dwarfs, who worked in a different place and spoke their own language. I started to go crazy, Arafinwë. I was losing the gift of speech; I was no more a Quendi, a "speaking" creature, but a mute, irrational animal. I was talking to myself all the time, but I started to forget the words. I was forgetting the names of things, which I have not seen in months and years - the sky, the stars, grass, trees, and animals. I repeated the names of stars - Carnil and Luinil, Nénar and Lumbar, Alcarinquë and Elemmírë - but the syllables themselves were confused. Images of leaves and animals I could scribble in stone, to look at them and remember their names; but the stars, Arafinwë! How could I paint them?! I was no longer sure if I get it right: "Carnil" or "Calnir", "Lumbar" or "Lubram". Some words had similar parts - "car" in the "Car-nil" and «Al-car-inquë", "nil" in “Car-nil" and "Lui-nil ". I was trying to memorize words by parts, but it was too hard, the parts were too many! Then I realized that all the words had the same sounds I could hear at the same place in a given word. I could single out a sound and mark one single sound with one single sign. I could draw signs LMBR - and I would remember; I would no longer be confused. I wrote L-M-B-R, «Lumbar". I’ve started with L and finished with R. These characters looked like shining stars in the sky. Much later, I came up with signs for vowels... A few months later, I have escaped and became a companion of your father Finwë. Finwë’s wife Míriel made new clothes for me. She cut the ends of my hair and plaited them. After that, I did not let anybody touch my hair.  
\- Forgive me. Forgive me, please - Finarfin kissed Rúmil’s hand several times. - I guess I would really go mad if I’d only realized how much did I hurt you. I’ve not only stripped you of clothing, but asked if I can cut your hair… - Rúmil felt Finarfin’s hot tear on his arm.  
Finarfin hurriedly got up and put on his long white shirt.  
\- I'm sorry - he said, turning his back to Rúmil. - Sorry. I'm a complete fool. Half-baked, as my older brother once said. It will not work. I’d better get out of here.  
Rúmil held him and turned him almost by force.  
\- Do not go! Do not leave me. I love you very much. Do you want to ... want to ... - Rúmil picked up a paper-knife, cut off in the middle the long braid which ran from his left temple and handed it to Finarfin. – Take it. It’s yours. Do not think ill of me. At least stay my friend. Please.  
Finarfin warmly embraced him.  
\- Please understand, my dear, even if you did something stupid, it's not forever, - said Rúmil gently. - This is not a life sentence. It will be forgotten. I want you to stay as you are, you, my most carefree and illiterate student.  
\- Rúmil, I have long wanted to ask you. - Finarfin took from him the dark braid and winded it on his finger, then - on the wrist. – How did you get your name?  
\- What do you think? - Rúmil answered with a smile. - You see, I learned from you to leave questions unanswered.  
\- Quennar supposed that your name comes from the word "mystery" and you were called so because you know many secrets of nature and the world, - said Finarfin.  
\- It could be the same root as in "mystery”, - said Rúmil, - but it's not because I know something. When my mother gave me this name, I was but a few days old and I surely did not know anything. Look out the window, Arafinwë: do you see the two stars there, in the northeast, over the mountains?  
\- The Eagle?  
\- No, look there. Do you see them? Mama said that there was a small star, top right. I was not able to see it – my parents could see a half times more stars than I do, I do not have a keen eye. She called it "Rúmil" and named me after it.  
\- I see it, - whispered Finarfin. 

*** 

Finarfin did not believe in revenge. He believed that everyone has his or her own destiny; everyone chooses it, and it is silly to try to change it, especially after everything is over. Of course, he did not speak out his thoughts to his brothers and even to their and his own children. What would they say if they would understand that he does not want to take revenge for the murder of his father Finwë?  
\- Do you agree, Finarfin, to lead an army, if we decide to punish Melkor for all the crimes he has committed against the Quendi and the younger children of Iluvatar? – Varda asked him. - Can you give me your answer in a week?  
\- Yes, - said Finarfin at once. – Yes, I agree.  
She looked at him; perhaps she knew he was not thinking about his father, his brothers, his kin – they were adults who could choose their own destiny, but about other elves and Men such as Rúmil – desperate and defenceless teenager who was afraid to forget his native language. 

Finarfin put the copybooks and writing samples he took from the school on his table. The only way was to redraw the words from texts written by others. He never learned his spelling. Now he knew that Rúmil - just as his father and brother - did not care.  
"Dear Rúmil! - he wrote. - Miss you much. All the time I think about you. Now I have to part from you for a while, but it is temporary. Please take care of yourself. I will come back to you as soon as possible".  
Finarfin hesitated for a moment, choosing his words; he took his ill-fated letter to the Valar that Rúmil made him to re-write several times without mistakes, - just to show that his studies were not in vain.  
"I will be so happy to see you again” – he wrote. Finarfin looked at the beginning of the letter to find the right words – “you, dear Rúmil. I love you. I love you. I love you. In your house, I have found my peace of mind... ".  
Finarfin was lost in thoughts: he closed his eyes, remembering the embraces that, he was sure, will be repeated again and again. Then he took up his pen again and added:  
"... and hart."


End file.
